


Pins and Needles

by commander_hot_pants



Series: Allison Shepard [3]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Allison Shepard, Background - Freeform, Earth, Friendship, Gen, Non-Explicit Sex, Origin Story, Prostitution, earth born
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 06:57:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7791364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commander_hot_pants/pseuds/commander_hot_pants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After she ran from the Reds, six-teen year old Shepard found herself with nowhere to go, no skills to cope, and no friends to rely on. With nowhere else to go she finds herself selling her body and living out of a shelter doing anything she can to get by. When a stranger in a bar shows her kindness she thinks things are beginning to turn around, but things are about to become even worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pins and Needles

**Author's Note:**

> Note that this fic is complimentary to my other fic Rusted from the Rain, but stands separate if you haven't/don't want to read that one. This spans the gap between Shepard leaving the Red's and joining the Alliance. Please enjoy.   
> Please note warnings.

She swore through grit teeth and kicked the ally wall. She swiped the credit chit over her Omni-tool three more times but the numbers were constant. Her last John had passed a five credit chit off as a fifty, he must have swapped it before handing it over.

"Fucking, mother fuc-- bastard!" Shepard grabbed a handful of her dyed black hair and pulled. He seemed like a nice guy. She should have knew better than to trust someone else's swipe. "Fuck."

In a second of rage she held her arm up, intent to throw the chit onto the ground, to stomp on it and scream. She took a deep breath and calmed herself, sliding the chit into her windbreaker pocket. Five credits was still five credits. It wouldn’t be the meal she was hoping for, but it would be a protein bar and maybe a bottle of tupari if she could find a sale.

She licked her lips just thinking about the sports drink, the sharp sugar and the tingly bubbles. She was good at conserving it too, there was a little space between her mattress and the wall where she could stash things. If she took a sip every once and awhile she could stretch out a bottle over a few days.

Her stomach thundered its discontent and she sighed. It had only been a day without food but for a biotic- even a non-functioning biotic- it felt like a lifetime. She could get Alliance grade protein bars for three credits each, and sometimes they were on sale two for five but that was rare.

She thought about chasing after him, running back to where his skycar was parked just minutes before but more than likely he had run off the second she turned the corner. That’s what people did after they cheated someone, they left and left quickly.

The shop did have a sale today, and two protein bars was too tempting to turn down. No tupari today. Shepard had spent the last few years on the streets, and before that she hadn’t had many luxuries anyway, so she understood the value that came with a small high caloric meal. But she was still a sixteen year old girl, and she was still allowed to feel disappointed that she didn’t get a sugary treat.

She stuffed the first bar down on her way into Oasis, a local bar. The man tending the bar was named Sam and he recognized her on sight, throwing a smile her way. They knew her here and knew what she did. They let her work their patrons and if a potential John should buy her a drink they'd swap it for a non-alcoholic version. All she had to do was occasionally suck the manager off, and he was nice about it, often offering her a shot of vodka afterwards.

“Greg around?” She asked as she approached the bar, hopeful for one of those shots right now. Sam shook his head.

“Won’t be back for a couple days.  Some kind of investment meeting.” Shepard sighed and drummed her fingers on the table.  “You want a glass of water?” Just before she should accept, she spotted a gentleman down the bar, drinking alone. The way his sleeve cuffs were folded said alliance, his distant off focus stare said lonely, and the sink to his shoulder said depressed.

He looked like a perfect customer.

She shook her head at Sam and slipped off her stool. Circling around the man to his left side, slightly relieved that there was no wedding ring. A wedding ring wasn’t a stop sign, but it did stack the deck against her. The crawl of unkempt stubble along his jawline said two things- he'd been deployed for a while, and he hadn’t come back to a partner.

“Hey there, handsome. “ It was a cheesy line but it got the job done more often than not. “You're one of those Alliance types? I bet you could show me a real good time.” She ran her index finger along his arm and felt him shudder in response. “You want some company?”

His reflexes were fast- much faster than hers even if she hadn’t been running on fumes. He grabbed her wrist and twisted it just enough that the angle was uncomfortable. His knuckles were bruised and some were cut, he'd been in a fight recently. His brown eyes leveled to her.

“I’m not interested in your services.” When she went to take her wrist back he held on, flexed his fingers and she could tell he was sensing how skinny she was beneath her windbreaker. Sympathy replaced anger, and he looked her up and down. “How old are you?”

Shepard tried to grab her arm back again but the man did not relent.

“They keep a shotgun under the counter.” She whispered it quickly, quietly, praying Sam would not be alerted to the altercation. She could not risk being kicked out tonight. “If there's trouble here it will be bad news for everyone. Let me go."

He hesitated, but slowly he released her. "Sorry."

She snarled a few choice names at him as she stormed off towards the back most corner booth, where she could oversee the whole bar. There were no other men drinking alone, just an assortment of little groups. It was the middle of the day, the best customers came out at night when it was more socially acceptable to drink away your problems.

She sat back in the booth and sighed, running a hand through her hair. The last few days had been slow, a lot of it had to do with Alliance rotations. Fresh recruits often came through before shipping out for the next stage of training, they were nervous and often in a new town. These kind of men were happy to pay for some comfort. There were also men having been in a mission or two, craving the kind of assurance that came with a pretty girl on their arm. These men, caught in the meantime, were easy customers. A man seeking solace was a walking meal ticket to Shepard. Recently a large batch had been sent out, leaving the city bare and difficult.

She fiddled with the other protein bar in her pocket, feeling the wrapping crinkle around her fingers sent hungry shivers through her body. It wasn’t even tasty, Alliance protein bars were essentially protein powder, coconut oil, and flour compressed into a small brick. The god damn Alliance didn’t even use them anymore if they could help it, they gave their marines proper paste meals in the worst of situations, and on many ships they gave them dehydrated meals.

She pulled it out of her pocket and flipped it over a few times in her palm.

Five-hundred calories. That was about ten percent of her recommended daily caloric intake, but it had been weeks since she'd eaten the entire five thousand. Her stomach ached for it, and she pinched the edges, considering ripping it open and devouring it. She could feel the bar, like day old oatmeal, sliding down her throat and filling the infinitely empty void that was her stomach. She thought about how good it would feel to be full for once.

She glanced towards the lone man at the bar and caught him staring at her. She flipped him off and he averted his gaze.

Shepard put the bar back in her pocket. It was better to save it for the most desperate of moments. Biotics were at high risk of starving to death. Even a biotic with broken implants, actively suppressing her powers could pass out or even be rendered comatose after a day or two without food. A day without food and an accidental flare and she'd be down for the count.

Sam put a burger plate down in front of her and she sat up quickly. She lit up, mouth opening and closing as she looked to the plate. An entire burger? To herself? Fresh from the kitchen? She could already taste it on her tongue, the beef and the ketchup so warm and zesty. With Cheese too?

She almost reached for it before she realized the mistake and deflated. The pain in her stomach throbbed so hard she could feel it in her heart and shoulders.

"What is this? I didn’t order this," Her body groaned and her stomach flipped at the admission, "I can't afford this, Sam."

"Guy at the bar bought it for you." Sam stuck his thumb towards the man at the bar who was very purposely nursing his beer and avoiding eye contact. She stared wide eyed for several seconds.

"For me?" She mumbled, but Sam had already left to tend bar again. She looked at the plate, it was a cheeseburger with fries. There were so many fries. It was all so greasy and delicious. She reached for it but her fingers hesitated.

In front of her sat the caloric equivalent of her last three days combined. On one plate, begging to be eaten. She could _feel_ the grease dripping down the back of her throat and she could _taste_ the starch of the fries. If she had been religious in any way she would have bowed her head and thanked whatever omnipotent being she believed in. She would have acclaimed their intervention and cried their praises out loud. But as she was not religious, all she managed was a hushed sob.

The man sat down across from her, his empty beer abandoned at the bar. They sat in silence for several seconds.

"I'm sorry I grabbed you." He said finally, still avoiding eye contact. "You interrupted my thoughts and I…" She dug her nails into her palms and waited, watching the cheese as it began to harden. "Are you alright?"

Her stomach churned and bellowed as she stared intensely at the food but did not partake.

"Are you living in a shelter?" He asked a minute later. "Is there someone taking care of you?"

"I don’t need your charity." She heard herself say it before she could stop herself. She winced and covered her face so he could not see her tears.

"You seemed hungry." She was.

"I'm not." Her jaw was shaking and she could feel her lower lip quivering against her upper. She could also feel herself sobbing. For several minute he sat there in silence before he finally stood up. He didn’t say anything before he left.

Shepard waited until she knew he was long gone, until she knew he had paid his tab and left before she broke loose.

She took a handful of fries first and stuffed them in her mouth. As she was chewing she poured ketchup onto her plate and picked a strand of lettuce off the burger, shoving it into her mouth as well. She almost choked on the first swallow, but once it was down she took a bite out of the burger so large it might have challenged a Krogan. The burger was just as rich as she thought it would be.

Not a second went by that she was not shoving food into her mouth, until there was no food left to shove. Even the sesame seeds had been swept off the plate with her index finger.  

A busser she didn’t know the name of cleared her table as she sat huffing, eyes half closed as her body processed the food.

She couldn’t remember the last time she felt truly full. Stuffed as much as she could.

But after only a moment, the feeling of being full was no longer a pleasurable feeling.

She swallowed back an excess of her own saliva, bit her lips closed and walked quickly out the front door. Around the corner from the bar was a shitty, dirty alleyway where she could vomit in peace.

Her body rejected the food. It was a simple as that. She had been toeing the line of starvation for a long time, her body wasn’t ready to process a meal as rich as that one, but to her relief only some of the meal came up. She sat down on the ally floor and regained her composure as much as she could.

It was a 45 minute walk back to her bed at Saint Veronica's, but it seemed like a trek worth making at the moment. Laying down for a while seemed like the best option.

**

Even with more than a dozen children running around, Shepard woke from her nap feeling better than she had in years. Even though she'd expelled much of her meal, she woke up without hunger pains. She stretched in her tiny cot, and although her fingers and toes touched the edges it felt very comfortable.

Saint Veronica's as a women's shelter slash women only hostel, she had to enlist pity from the sisters who ran it to give her a bed in the first place, and after that she'd had to submit to many humiliating medical tests to keep it. She could sleep in the same bed every night, and they provided laundry machines and a small cubby to stash personal items in.

She had already learned not to keep anything in the cubby she wasn’t prepared to lose but she had gotten very good at finding places to hide things. Like the four centimetre gap between her mattress and the wall where she had shoved any food she was keeping, and the tile in the bathroom she could push up to keep her toiletries safe.

They did not provide meals at Saint Veronica's, at least not to adults. Children under 12 got free breakfasts, but after that they too were on their own. Most of the women here were buying meals with vouchers from the government, and did alright for themselves all things considered. But Shepard had no way to gain access to any government assistance, if she tried to qualify for some they'd just take her back to foster care.

She'd seen it happen, in her eight months in the shelter two girls around her age had been found out. Both of them had been crying when the police officers came to extract them, one of them had been screaming and tried to punch one. They'd put her in Omni-cuffs and dragged her back to whatever abusive home she'd fled in the first place.

Shepard wouldn’t go back- _couldn’t_ go back.

With no access to assistance, her access to credits was significantly limited. Even with a free bed, she still needed to eat, and still needed basic supplies. She thought about going back to running sand, joining one of the Red's rival gangs but it was easier said than done. In the end, selling her body was the easiest way to survive.

Being underage meant she couldn’t be legally licenced to do so, but being unlicensed meant being unregulated, which was both an advantage and a disadvantage. She didn’t have to declare her income, and she didn’t have to abide to the minimum charges, but she couldn’t accept direct payments, and if she got stopped by a cop she'd be arrested.

She groaned as a particularly high pitched scream came from just outside the hallway, one of the small girls probably discovered a mouse again. She was lucky that the bedroom block she was in didn’t have any children in it, just surrounding it.

It was approaching evening, time to get back to Oasis to see what lonely men were waiting for cheap companionship. She slipped on her one dress and a pair of sandals and slathered on a generous amount of lipstick.

When she got to Oasis about an hour later the bar was much fuller than it had been earlier, but there were still few men drinking alone. Fortunately as soon she walked in one man in particular began to eye her. She swallowed the familiar knot in her throat and began to saunter over, taking a moment to pretend to be invested in the sports being played inside. A little coyness never hurt anyone.

"Hey there handsome." She drawled when she got close. She ran her fingers over his shoulders as she circled around. "You certainly look like you know how to show a girl a good time…"

He grabbed her so quickly she barely had time to react, an arm slung tightly around her waist, pulling her tightly against him. He buried his nose into her neck and inhaled deeply.

"Seventy credits." He said as she pushed her away and took a swig of his beer in one motion. She was thrown too off balance to reply. "Seventy credits is the most I'll pay to fuck you." He didn’t look back at her as he spoke.

"I…" She wiped at her neck and straightened up. "I charge one-hundred for an hour, fifty for a blow job."

"I said seventy." He spat. "Take it or leave it."

"A licenced girl charges a minimum of two hundred," Shepard said. "I'm a good deal."

"Seventy is more than your worth." He looked her up and down, a snarl on his lips. "Take it or leave it." Shepard bit her lip and took a look around the bar, there were other men drinking alone but none of them had as much as made eye contact with her. A guaranteed John was better than none.

"I need physical chits..." Her voice broke on the last word. He laughed quietly and paid up his tab.

"I'm in the Alliance temp housing." He started leading her along and she quietly followed, hands clasped together in front of her.

As a rule, Shepard did not let John's take her back to the temp housing. There was too much security, too many ears and eyes. A single suspicious officer could have her thrown in jail for five years, much longer if they could connect her back to the Reds.

But she was desperate. She needed credits.

 _One exception._ She promised herself.

She closed her hoodie tight around her as she followed the man into his room, a standard temporary room they had for Alliance marines when they passed through the city for a day or so. When she got into the room she saw a carnifex out on the night stand, and an undecorated officer's uniform on a hanger by the door. 

Something wasn’t right. Every fiber of her being was telling her to run but she shook her head free and took her hoodie off.

"Get on your knees." He ordered as he closed the door.

"That’s extra." She said. "Let me see the credits."  He held up two chits and let her swipe them, ensure they were the right amount. They were, a twenty and a fifty.

Her fingers went cold and her sight started to dim as she undressed and locked herself away. She closed herself in and laid down on the bed, waited for him to do what he wanted and then excuse her. She did not look him in the eye, she did not kiss him on the mouth.

His breath was so strong it surrounded her like a fog. She could feel it covering her skin and sinking into her flesh. Tainting her, poisoning her, killing her. She closed her eyes, ignored his grunts, and sunk into the safety of her mind.

She thought about what a waste this was. Here she spent time, the precious, limited days of her youth slipping away.  She thought about what a waste his credits were on her. But most of all she thought about how much of a waste she was.

It would be over soon, she had to promise herself that. It would be over soon and she could go back to Saint Veronica's and sleep, and hopefully when she woke up tomorrow morning she'd wake up to a better day.

"Look at me." He yelled suddenly, his hands forced her shoulders down to the bed, the sudden pressure forcing the wind out of her. His arm pulled back and he punched her, square in the cheek, hard enough her vision flashed white. She cried out and reached tenderly towards her face, he punched her again before she had the chance to defend herself. 

She gasped too late. His fingers were tightening around her throat. She clawed around, trying to reach for the night stand, the gun, the lamp, anything. Nothing but sheets met her grasp.

"That’s right," He whispered, his voice low and quiet. Intimate. Even if she couldn’t breathe she could somehow still smell his breath. He squeezed her throat, and he continued to use her, "you've noticed me now, haven't you?"

She reached towards his face but her finger tips just barely graved his chin. Useless.

She dug her fingernails into his wrist but they were short and dull. Useless.

He was laughing.

Laughing and fucking her and squeezing the air out of her. She was going to die here, strangled on dirty sheets with a strangers cock inside of her. Degraded, worthless, nameless. Pointless.

As she clawed at his wrists, vision going white and blurry, her existence had been pointless. A waste.

She heard herself scream, felt the energy resonate core before her mind processed the burst.

The man flew across the room and hit the far wall with enough force to leave a dent. As she coughed and gasped her breath back she could see wiring spark through the cracks in the drywall. She had crawled backwards up the bed, her head against the headboard. Still trying to catch her breath, she reached for the carnifex on the bedside table.

Slowly she stood up, gun pointed at the man. He was laying still but she could see him breathing, it was shallow but he was defiantly still alive.

When she ran her hands through her hair her hand came back warm and sticky from blood. He had hit her hard, she was lucky it didn’t knock her out. She walked close enough to nudge him with her toe and he winced slightly in response, eyes fluttering open and closed. If he had hit her hard, she had hit him even harder.

She looked down the sights of the gun, bounced it slightly in her hand to test the weight. She knew how to file a gun in theory, she didn’t feel particularly guilty about ending a life of someone who tried to end hers.

It would be so easy to take his life.

The door broke in, so loud and sudden the gun might have gone off if her finger had been on the trigger.

The two Alliance officers who had broken down the door gaped for a few seconds, first at their comrade lying on the floor, then at her, then at the gun in her hand. Instantly two guns were pointed at her. Her eyes were as wide with surprize as theirs.

"Put it down." One ordered, his young voice cracking slightly on the last word.

She was frozen, shaking but stuck. This was the end. She wouldn’t leave here. She was to be arrested, if not killed by a trigger happy officer.

Behind them a third Alliance marine emerged, wearing crisp dress blues, many metals attached to his lapel. It was the man from the bar earlier, the man who bought her a meal, who tried to help her. His eyes were deep brown, but they were a transparent window into his mind. She could see right into him.

The overwhelming feeling of having disappointed someone consumed her. The need to apologize was stronger than her fear of arrest.

"Put the gun down," He said, his voice was rich and firm, "Don’t do something you'll regret." She blinked out of her trance. Slowly, carefully she laid the gun on the bed. As soon as it was out of her hands one of the officers circled around behind her and took her hands behind her, and she could feel the cuffs being locked on.

"I didn’t mean…" She was crying again. She was always crying. "I didn’t…" He started pulling her out of the room, the other officer was checking the unconscious man's vitals.

"Wait," He was the brown eyed man, he was averting her eyes. He reached down and picked up her discarded dress, offered it out to her without looking at her body, "take the cuffs off, let her get dressed."

**

She sat silent for three hours with her fingers knit tightly together on the table.

They'd taken her to the hospital, they'd stripped her again, they'd checked every inch of her body, documenting every bruise, cut and scar. Then they'd taken her to this dark room given her convicts clothing, cuffed her to the table, and demanded answers to their biased questions.

Shepard had been silent the entire time, still unsure on how to respond. It was clear she was in great trouble. They had already decided she was guilty, violent, and evil. She couldn’t blame them either, she as just a street kid, a prostitute- not even a licenced prostitute, just a trouble maker. Just a waste of life.

She was afraid. Terrified. When she was sure no one was watching she let herself sob, let herself tremble, let herself crave comfort. She didn’t know what they were going to do with her, how far they'd push the charges. She didn’t know where she would end up.

The doors opened, finally after hours left alone. It was the man from the bar, the man who'd let her get dressed before hauling her away. He had a mug of coffee clenched in each first. His eyes weren’t angry anymore, they were sad.

He put the two mugs down on the table and pushed one across to her, "Two sugars two creams." He said. She looked at the mug and didn’t say anything, didn’t reach for it, "If you're hungry I can get you some dinner." He waited several minutes before trying again.

"You need to tell us what happened," he said, "we want to hear your side of the story." She clenched her fingers to keep them from shaking, "Would you like to hear what he said? He told us that you two met at a bar, flirted, and you agreed to go home with him. When you got to the room you revealed yourself to be a prostitute, and told him to pay you. When he declined, you attacked him with biotics, took his gun and told him you were going to kill him. That’s when we walked in." She pressed her lips together and closed her eyes, "If that’s true, it means unlicensed prostitution and assault- Maybe even attempted murder." Her stomach grew so cold and heavy, "These are serious charges, you'd be facing a lot of jail time. You might never have freedom again." Despite how tight she screwed her eyes closed, tears were still beginning to escape again in front of this man.

She thought about jail. She thought about hard mattresses, cold meals, public bathrooms… She thought about blankets, she thought about food and remembered again it had been hours since her last meal. Her stomach ached, her toes were freezing.

The clothes they'd given her were a far too large for her, but they were comfortable, and they didn’t have holes or blood stains.

She reached for the cup of coffee with trembling fingers and brought it to her lips. It was rich, it was flavorful. It had been months, maybe years since she drank coffee… She drank the whole thing and sighed.

Jail was warm, and safe. Jail had beds and food and medical professionals. Jail was better than the streets.

Anywhere was better than the streets.

She took a deep breath through her nose, and looked to him again, "It's true." She said finally. "I am a prostitute, I am unlicensed, I tried to trick him into sleeping with me for money, and when he- when he wouldn’t I got mad. I intended to kill him, and take his wallet. I-" She coughed to cover a sudden snivel but the look on his face said he hadn’t been fooled, "I was going to use his money to buy drugs. Red Sand."

"If you hadn’t walked in," She continued, "I would have killed him, stolen his money, and left his body there. And if you let me go, I'll do it to someone else." She leaned forward towards him expression stone. "I am a monster. I am dangerous. Put me away, put me away for life."

"Red sand?" He asked, she nodded. "No red sand in your system." She shrugged and tapped the side of her mug. "I don’t think that story is true, I don’t think the evidence supports it either…" She glared down at her empty mug for several seconds before he spoke again. "What happened? To your face, what happened?"

"I'm a whore, and I live on the streets." She said. "I got in a fight."

"He didn’t do that to you?" Her jaw shifted in frustration. "How old are you?"

"Twenty."

"What's your name?"

"Kandy," She replied sarcastically, "with a 'K'."

"I think you're lying to me. I think you made a deal with him and it went south." He said. "I think those injuries are fresh." He reached his hands towards her suddenly and she jumped back as far as the cuffs would allow her.

"It's ok." He said softly, kindly. "I'm not going to hurt you, I just want to see your neck." She tilted her head up hesitantly, allowing him to put his hand very close to her throat. "My hands are about the same size as his… I think he did that to you. If you're lying about what happened, if he hurt you and you don’t tell us and he goes free he could hurt someone else."  He leaned back into his chair, and pushed his cup of coffee towards her.

He was right. Lying could mean a safer future for her now, but it meant danger for anyone else he met in the future. She pulled his mug closer to her and lifted it to her lips, once again the euphoric rush of coffee filled her.

"We met in the bar." She began. "He grabbed me before we even spoke. I told him I was for hire and we agreed on a price… seventy credits… I don’t usually do it for that little but," She ran a hand through her hair, it was still sticky with blood, "I haven't had much work lately, when I told him one hundred.... I just, I just I couldn’t- I can't _do_ another day hungry. I was desperate. We went to the room and I guess I didn’t fulfill his expectations of a cheap whore." She couldn’t help but laugh a little.

"He started hitting me in the face, and then he put his hands around my throat and tried to strangle me…" He brought the coffee mug against her chest, closing in on herself. "I can't control my powers, my implant got busted a couple years ago… But I was so scared, it just happened. And then I saw the gun and I thought he might wake up…" He let her words run out of steam before he spoke again.

"It's alright." He was honest, she could tell that about him. He really believed what he said. "Did you try to run, after he hit you?" Shepard shrugged.

She sighed, and considered lying again. "I didn’t really have time but, to be honest," She wrapped her arms around herself, "wouldn't have been the first time some guy got carried away. Half the guys who hire me do it because they know I can't go to the cops, they can do pretty much whatever they want to me."

For a moment the man looked like he was actually in pain, his brows rose and his jaw tensed. "What happened to your implant?"

She automatically rubbed at the base of her skull, feeling the node still lingering there. "A guy thought I was stealing his sand. Hit me in the back of the head with a beer bottle, it was a really lucky hit, he broke a primary node. My biotics have been pretty much non-existent ever since."

"Do you have someone taking care of you?"

"Like a pimp?" She smirked at the uncomfortable pull to his lips. "No. I did," She closed her eyes for several seconds, "but things didn’t work out."

He nodded for a while and finally asked, "What's your real name?"

"Shepard."

" _Just_ Shepard?"

"Well," She took a deep breath, "Allison Shepard. But I prefer Shepard."

"Why is that?" She stared him down for several seconds. Something about his eyes, or his shoulders, or maybe it was the way his index finger curved-- but she trusted him, at least this far.

"My father." She begun, finishing off the coffee. "He died when I was pretty little. All he ever left me was this name. The least I can do is wear it."

"I don’t hear that outside of the Alliance very often," He crossed his arms over his chest, "have you served?"

"I'm sixteen." The admission sent a wave of surprize though him and he exhaled loudly.

"You said your father's dead," He pulled her empty mugs towards him and collected them on his hooked index finger, "is your mother around?" Shepard shook her head.

"She ran off when I was about three, haven't heard from her since." Shepard tried to remember a time when she had lived with both her parents but every time she tried to recall the memory it was more and more distorted then the last time. "I don’t even know what she looks like."

"We'll get this sorted out." He mumbled, shaking his head to banish whatever thoughts he had.

"What's your name?" Shepard asked, clinking her chained wrists against the table.

"My name is David Anderson." He said. Shepard repeated the name to herself. "I'm going to go get us some dinner, I'll be right back."

**

When she was nine she shared a house with another foster kid named Christopher, and she was very fond of him. He had a rich mahogany completion and sharp brown eyes. There was a web of scars down the left side of his neck and shoulders and disappeared into the collars of his shirts. He was already seventeen when they were placed in the same house, but he didn’t act like he was better than her just because he was older.

Christopher's parents had died when he was twelve, so he had a lot of stories about them, and also a younger sister who died with them. He used to describe his mother as a very modest woman who made the best dinners, and his father as a trickster who always snuck him and his sister treats when they were waiting for said dinners. This sister had thick black hair and he said he used to hide army men in it when she wasn’t paying attention.

When he turned eighteen he left the home for the colonies, but he left her with his favorite T-shirt, a yellow shirt with a green symbol in the center of the chest. It was so large Shepard couldn’t even wear it to sleep for another four years, but when she ran away it was one of the only items she took with her.

From the moment she put on that shirt she knew yellow was not a good color on her, but she still wore it because she loved it and she was proud of it.

And in the same way, she wore the yellow dress uniform of Lynn's Diner proudly. It was a starch polyester so synthetic staining was impossible, and the bottom came up a little shorter then she would have liked but the extra legs meant extra tips so she didn’t complain.

Lynn's diner was a hole in the wall. It was slow but had a staple of regular clients she'd gotten to know over the past 15 months. Rich, the diner's owner, was a kind old man who stood barely five foot and had halo of grey hair surrounding a liver spotted scalp. Anderson had introduced her to him, and forced her to be honest with him about her age.

Rich had seemed hesitant but with Andersons kind word he'd given her a job. The money wasn’t great but after a few months she was in her own apartment, a tiny bachelor pad of barely 200 square feet she could call home.

A couple months down the road she started fucking a line cook for 100 credits a pop. He was a nice guy just out of a shit marriage who treated her like a human rather than an object. It wasn’t an honest way to make extra cash but she wanted so desperately to make something of herself. Sex was, after all, only a means to an end.

She didn’t share that information in her letters to Anderson- although there hadn’t been many letters. They wrote to each other occasionally, she kept him updated on her life, told him when he started thinking about finishing school, about her new apartment, and about her yellow uniform.

Allison was wearing the uniform dress right now under a well-worn charcoal hoodie and miss-matched ankle socks sticking out over her sneakers. A greyish apron slung around her waist with keys, credit chits and a seven-inch knife stuffed into the front.

The man who tried to strangle her was behind bars now. She could sleep a little easier knowing one less person was out there hurting people.

A _little_ easier. But not much.

A man was leaning against her door when she got to her apartment, a package under one arm. He wasn’t a dangerous man, not someone who made her reach for her knife but the only man she would be willing to entertain.

"Anderson," She felt an uncharacteristic grin spread her lips before she could stop it. She reached into her apron pocket and grabbed her keys, "What a surprise."

"Wanted to check in, make sure you were still doing alright." He moved aside and let her open the door.

"I'm great, and I have no plans tonight." She held the door open for him, "Please come in.”

“You're still working at the Diner.” He commented, glancing at her uniform, “It's been a year now.”

“Over a year,” She nodded, locking all four locks behind them, “Rich is real nice to me too, lets me pick up extra shifts when I’m gonna be short on rent, which is almost never now a days.” He tossed her hoodie on the couch, “And look! I got curtains. It's not much but it's all mine.” She said, watching Anderson wander her apartment. She nervously took a deep breath, afraid of his pending disapproval, “And, I owe it all to you…”

“You owe it to yourself,” He replied with a warm smile, “It's very nice, Allison.” She felt a warmth rise to her cheeks.

“It's uh,” She took a step towards him, taking off her apron and throwing it on the couch, “It's my birthday today…"

"Tomorrow, actually," Anderson corrected, "You're turning eighteen." She straightened up, surprized.

"Yeah, that’s right." She tucked some loose hair back into her pony tail, "Eighteen…"

"That’s why I'm here." She looked to him, he looked so serious in his dress uniform, his hair was so kempt and his posture so confidents. From under his arm he presented her with the poorly wrapped package.

Hesitantly, she took it from him. Weighed it in her hand. The wrapping might have been done with in expert hands but it was a creamy shade of yellow she instantly fell in love with. She shook it, a metal rattling from inside.

"Go ahead, open it."

"It's just," She pulled it to her chest, "I've never gotten a birthday gift like this before. Wrapped in paper." His smile turned sympathetic as she began to pull the paper. Underneath was a small black box, its velvet finish worn at the corners from being carried around for a long time. With a steading breath she opened the box.

Shepard stared at the contents, a little confused. It seemed like an odd gift.

"Dog tags?" She pulled them out, they were brand new. She flipped them over in her hands and the words engraved only confused her further. " _My_ dog tags?"

"I want you to enlist." The dog tags were heavier in her hand then she had expected. They were sharper too, the edges were fresh. "It might not be that appealing right now, but two rotations and you'll have access to education, life time benefits. They'll take care of you."

"I…" She ran her fingers over the engraving. "I can't do that." She'd said it. She couldn’t take it back now. She looked at him in time to see the shock register across his eyes.

She leant him a moment to adjust his posture before she handed back the dog tags, "Why not?

"It’s the easy way out." She couldn’t look at him anymore, couldn’t stand to disappoint him again. "I need to see things out here first." The silence that settled over them was not unlike the silence that settles after a dead.

"If that’s how you feel," he barely knew her, but he knew how stubborn she was, "I think I've over stayed my welcome." She couldn’t think of anything to say, so she quietly stepped aside and let Anderson unlock her door and leave.

***

"You sure you want to work a double tomorrow?" Rich had a way of speaking like he wasn’t sure about any of his words.

"Yeah, I could use the hours." Shepard refreshed a customer's coffee, her hair finally long enough to fall out of her ponytail and cause an annoyance. "Besides, I like Thursdays." He didn't seem convinced but he was too tired to argue so he pat her gently on the wrist.

"If it's empty at midnight you and Joshua can close up early, alright?" She nodded, but had no intention of closing up early. As Rich waddled off Shepard took a second to survey the diner. Most of the patrons had already left, now only cleaning and prepping needed to be done.

"I just hear Rich say we can close up early?" She gave a little jump as Joshua peaked his head through the kitchen window. She sighed.

"Yeah." She'd wanted the extra hours, shifts from midnight to two were almost always dead and it gave her time to think.

"Great, I wanted to head in early."

"Got a hot date?" Joshua smirked.

"Not unless you wanna come home with me." She contemplated this for a moment.

"Can't tonight." She turned away from him. "Maybe tomorrow." She bit her lip as she wiped the kitchen windows ledge, "It's my birthday today."

"Your birthday?" Joshua had a way of seeming genuinely excited about things. "How many years young?"

"Twenty." She'd been lying about her age for so long telling the truth at this point felt wrong. She'd already been twenty for four years, might as well stay that way until it was true.

"Happy Birthday, Shep." She let herself feel special under his gaze.

"Yeah, happy birthday Allison." She turned so quickly she knocked a glass off the counter, it fragmenting on the floor. Walnut had grown his hair out, now it was a messy ponytail low on his skull. He had at one time been her closest friend in the Reds, the man who got her off the streets.

"Walnut," The cleaning towel tightened between her fingers, its threads so taught it nearly ripped, "what are you doing here?"

"What are _you_ doing here?" Under his jacket the butt of a pistol stuck out. She stumbled through a few words as Joshua in the kitchen called to make sure she was alright. 

"I…" She couldn’t calm herself, her lips trembled and tears began to gather.

"Natch has been looking for you." Walnut took a coffee creamer between his fingers, fiddled around with it. "He's offering three-thousand credits for you dead," He crushed the creamer in his palm, "twice as much for you alive."

She watched the milk drip from his closed palm onto the counter, "Please."

"If you come with me willingly he'll go easy on you." Joshua had left the kitchen and was now standing beside her but she still ignored him.

"Please, we used to be friends." She could feel herself crying, customers were staring, Joshua was staring.

"Twenty-four hours." Walnut said suddenly. "Twenty-four hours is what friendship buys you. I'll be outside that door this time tomorrow and you'll be packed ready to go, understand?" He reached forward and tugged on her name tag. "Don’t make me kill you."

The moment he stepped out the front door Shepard ran to the backroom, Joshua hot on her heals.

"Who the hell was that?" He asked as she threw her hoodie on and stuffed her keys into her apron pocket.

"I have to go, I'm sorry." She said frantically as she tried to push by him. He grabbed her shoulders and held her still.

"Not until you tell me who that was, what's going on?" She hadn’t realized how quickly she'd been breathing, how desperately she'd been panting.

"He-" She wiped her face with the sleeves of her hoodie. "I just have to go."

"He threatened to kill you, we have to call the cops."

"No." She shook her head. "We can't I… I just can't, I have to go, I have to leave town right now. He'll do it, he'll kill me. I'm sorry I have to go." She pushed past him, gripping the knife in her front pocket as tightly as she could. She nearly ran out of the front door and down the street, too panicked to even register her guilt for abandoning her shift.

Her fingers shook as she unlocked the door to her apartment. She dialed in Andersons Omni-code as she threw her backpack open and threw everything she needed into it.

"Shepard?"

"Anderson!" A pair of jeans, two t-shirts, a couple pairs of socks, some panties. "I've changed my mind," The five-hundred credits for emergencies, all of her identification, and everything else she had of value, "I'll join up."

"You're out of breath, what's going on?" She threw the back pack onto her back and left the apartment door open as she ran.

"I just-" She wiped her face again. "Are you still in town?"

"No, I left this morning." She couldn’t remember where the alliance recruitment office was. First and Willow? Second and Cherry?

"Did you keep my tags?" There was a hesitation on the other end of the line. "Anderson?"

"Of course. I'll keep them for you here, I'm in Vancouver."

"Great. Vancouver." She repeated. "I'll see you soon." She hung up before he could reply again, her fingers gripping onto her bag so tightly her knuckles were turning white. Alliance might have been the easy way out, but at least it was a way out.

But Walnut was waiting for her around the next corner, his hands in his pockets, and a grim expression on his face. She stopped so suddenly the sole of her running shoe split.

"Why did you have to run?" He shook his head at her. She held her breath, taking a long step back.

"Don’t do this." But he was already taking the pistol out, holding it in his hand like he was contemplating letting her go. He leveled the barrel at her. "Don’t do this."

The pistol few across the ally before he had a chance to fire, crashing harmlessly against fresh graffiti. He flexed his fingers, eyebrows shooting up.

"I see you got your implant fixed." He ran at her, tackling her to the ground before she could process it. He sat on her body and punched her twice in the nose, the bone and cartilage shattering under his fists. Shepard screamed as she summoned another push, forcing him off her and onto the ground. She limped up making another run for it.

He grabbed her ankles and sent her to the ground again, her face smashing on the ally's dirty ground. As she pushed herself up his boot collided with her sides, knocking the air out of her. She couldn’t stand as he turned to retrieve the gun, and she couldn’t run as she walked back over to her.

Shepard tried to crawl. She dug her fingers into the concrete and pulled herself as far as she could, until Walnut's boot crushed the small of her spine. What little air she could get in burned as it hit her lungs.

"Get up." He grunted, grabbing one of her arms and hoisting her up. "Get the fuck up." She fell back down, staring up at him and the sky, and the buildings stretching out above her.

Somehow she thought she'd escape this city before the end.

He knelt beside her and pressed the barrel into her throat, "Don’t make me kill you." He said every word like it was punctuated, its own slap.

"Do it." She could feel the blood pooling in the back of her throat. His finger slipped onto the trigger, pressing the barrel deeper against her pulse. "I'd rather die than go back."

He was drawing it out, savoring her fear. She wondered if he had fantasized about this moment, hunted her down so he could bring her head to Natch and gain favor with him.

No. It wasn’t pleasure in his eyes, it was indecisiveness.

"Kill me." She whispered, taking the barrel in one of her hands. "Just don’t make me go back to him." Maybe he was thinking of the time they'd spent together, when he met her on the street and bought her a burger. Sending her on sand runs. Joking with her in the Reds kitchen, sneaking her beers.

"If you don’t kill me," She began slowly, "If you take me back to him, I'll die a lot slower, and I'll die a lot worse." He looked away. "We were friends. Please, just end it quick." She closed her eyes and let go of the gun, laying back against the concrete.

Instead of a shot, the guns was pulled back. She opened her eyes to see Walnut holstering the weapon.

"In two hours," He said, still not looking back at her, "I'm going to call Natch and tell him where you work, tell him where you live. You better be so fucking far away from here, you got that?" She lifted her head, stared at him wide-eyed in disbelief.

He turned around, the last thing she saw of him was his ponytail and the back of his coat.

It took her a near half hour to limp to the Alliance office. As she entered, the three on duty marines stared. She was a sight. The entire front of her diner uniform dress was torn and filthy. Blood had caked and dried under her nose and down her lips. She held onto her ribs to keep them from throbbing.

"Can we help you?" The man at the desk asked.

"Hi." She gasped, leaning against the counter, a dusting of dirt falling from her hair. "I'd like to enlist."


End file.
